


Hurt for the Holidays

by missgeevious



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, References to A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Slight Hurt/Comfort, everyone is okay, flirting under the influence, importance of proper sweater care, it's not serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgeevious/pseuds/missgeevious
Summary: David and Patrick meet by accident on Christmas Eve.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 116
Kudos: 330
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	Hurt for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



“Absolutely not!”

The strident voice echoes in Patrick’s head and nudges him closer to consciousness. 

“This is Givenchy. You will, under no circumstances, _cut it off me._ Are you insane?”

God, his head hurts. It would be great if whoever is doing the yelling would stop. Patrick tries to open his eyes but immediately moans at the bright light cutting into his brain like a laser and clenches them shut again.

“Hey, there.” This voice is softer and closer. 

Patrick tries cracking just one eye open this time. He’s lying on a bed in what smells like a hospital room, but it’s too bright for him to focus on any of the details. Even the person talking to him is blurry. Patrick lets his eye fall closed again and grits his teeth against another moan.

The shouty person across the room is still hollering about his sweater and, god, Patrick will buy him a hundred sweaters if he will just shut up. 

Blessed silence falls for a moment and then a disgruntled, but quieter, voice says, “You _can’t_ buy me a hundred of these sweaters. There probably aren’t a hundred of them in existence for you to buy.” 

Patrick hadn’t meant to say that out loud but the man has stopped shouting, thank god, and it’s hard not to be glad about it. He should probably apologize to him but the idea of opening his eyes and speaking makes him want to throw up. His head hurts so much and attempting to put coherent thoughts together makes the pain and nausea even worse.

The person standing next to him— he must be the nurse— pats him on the shoulder and tells him that he’ll go fetch him some water and something for the pain and be right back. Patrick lifts a hand slightly in acknowledgment but doesn’t open his eyes again. 

“Okay, listen, this is how this is going to happen.” The man across the room is talking to whoever is clustered around his bed but his voice has changed. He’s no longer yelling at them. He’s calm and authoritative now as he talks them through how they are going to get the sweater off him without cutting it or stretching it. 

“Sir, your wrist is broken. What you are suggesting is going to be painful.”

“Losing this sweater would hurt more, trust me. If you’ll just help me remove it in the manner I’ve outlined I think both the sweater and I will be fine.” He’s clearly holding onto a polite tone of voice with great effort. 

Patrick listens to the sounds of movement from across the room. Then he hears both the bed and the man in it squeak a few times. Finally, he hears him exhale forcefully and say, “See? That worked out just— _ohmygod what are you doing?_ You cannot just _toss_ that sweater into a pile on a chair! Fold it! Please fold it! My god, what is wrong with you people? Have you listened to anything I’ve said? That sweater is practically priceless.”

“Sir, please stay in the bed.”

The man growls and Patrick likes something about the rumble of it. He wants to know what the man who made that sound looks like, but he’s not willing to risk another stab of pain by opening his eyes again. 

“Then take care of my _designer knitwear_ properly!”

They must acquiesce and fold the sweater because the next thing Patrick hears is a very sarcastic, “Thank you so much.” Followed by, “As much as I loathe the idea of that sweater being anywhere near plastic, can we please put it inside one of those bags you put my other belongings in? I don’t trust you monsters not to get some sort of fluid on it.” Then, more quietly, “Ew. Oh my god, I can’t even think about it.” 

It sounds like the man flops back on the bed and it’s followed by a drawn out, regretful, “Owww.”

Despite his own pain, Patrick finds himself amused by the antics of his roommate. He starts to crack his eye open again, giving in to the urge to get a look at him, but the bright light is still too much and he moans and closes it again immediately. 

“Hey. Hey! Is someone helping him? He sounds like he’s in a lot of pain.” 

A voice murmurs something Patrick can’t make out and then there are more noises from the other side of the room and then his roommate shouts, “Fuck! Now _I’m_ in pain! What are you doing to me? And could it possibly involve some more painkillers, please?!”

Patrick presses his lips together to keep from laughing. He’s certain laughing will make his head hurt more.

His nurse returns at that point and injects something into his IV line. “This will help with the pain. We need you to stay awake, though, okay? You’ve got a concussion.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m going to set some water here on the table next to you. Do you need anything else right now?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay. The doctor will be in to examine you shortly.”

He listens for more sounds from the other bed and waits for the painkiller to help. His roommate is mostly quiet now, though. Based on the little moans and the occasional hissed _fuck_ he assumes they are setting his wrist. 

Soon, Patrick’s pain and nausea drift away from him, as if his pain is stuck on shore while he floats away with the tide. The floating is soothing. He’s so sleepy. He’ll just rest for a little bit. They’ll be in to check on him soon. It’ll be fine.

“Hey!”

Patrick wants to respond to the person speaking, but it’s an awful lot of effort. He can leave a voicemail. Patrick will listen to it later. His thinking is fuzzy and dreamlike and he knows that’s not right, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to try to figure it out. It’s so nice to not feel the sick pulse of pain in his head. 

“Hey!” the voice says again, louder this time. “Hey! You! Fuck, I don’t even know your name. Wake up!”

“Mmm Pa’rick.”

“Patrick?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m David.”

That’s a nice name. David. He likes David’s voice when he’s not using it to shout.

“Thank you. I think.”

_Whoops._ He’s saying his inside words out loud. 

“Yes, yes, you are.” Amusement fizzes in David’s voice. 

There’s a pause and then David is being noisy again. “Patrick! Wake up.”

“Nnghh.”

“I heard the nurse say you have a concussion and you need to stay awake.”

“S’okay.”

“No, it’s really not. My sister had one once. She was playing water polo with some of the royal family and knocked herself out on the edge of the pool. It was a big deal.”

Patrick imagines the Queen of England playing water polo in pearls and one of her fussy hats with a purse clutched in one hand, and it makes him giggle. This conversation doesn’t make any sense. They must have given him the good drugs. 

“I think you’re right. You’re flying pretty high. That, or your concussion is a bad one. Apparently the drugs they give you for a broken wrist aren’t nearly as fun, which is a gross injustice as far as I’m concerned.”

Patrick is still imagining the Queen playing water polo and he giggles again.

“God, you’re cute,” David whispers. 

“Heard that!” Patrick slurs happily. Opening his eyes takes a monumental effort, but he does it. He really, really wants to see what David looks like. It’s still terribly bright out there, though. “Ugh. S’much light.”

“Hang on.”

Patrick hears footsteps and some muffled cursing and then David huffs out a breath. “Okay, try now.”

He opens his eyes cautiously to find the room a lot dimmer than it was a few minutes ago and David standing next to his bed. “How’s that?”

Patrick drags his heavy eyes up slowly to meet David’s and then he blinks several times in disbelief. David is gorgeous. Breathtaking, really. Patrick’s breath has been taken. He puts a hand on his chest and inhales deeply just to make sure he still can. His thoughts are getting weird again. He’s supposed to say something. He’s been asked a question, but he can’t remember what it was so he just stares dumbly at David for a bit before finally managing to speak. 

“Wow.” 

David reaches up with his uninjured hand and pushes his dark curls around. “What? Oh, god. My hair is a mess, isn’t it? I can tell.” His thick, black brows rise and press together in a way that makes him look anxious and adorable in equal measure. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words fall out of Patrick’s mouth before he can catch them and keep them inside. 

David’s hand freezes while his brows relax and his face softens. He squeezes a smile to one corner of his mouth, making a dimple pop into existence on that side, and a spinning weightlessness whooshes through Patrick and settles in his stomach. He’s not sure if it’s the drugs or David. He wants to kiss that dimple, though. It probably tastes happy. Wait, that’s not right. His brain feels slow and fuzzy. 

David gives up on his hair. “They really did give you the good drugs, huh?”

“No. I mean, yes.” Patrick giggles. “I mean, I think you’re probably very attractive with or without the drugs.” 

David laughs, delighted, and then schools his face into a frown. “Probably?” he repeats in a mock offended voice.

“Almost definnnitely.” The second word drags out as Patrick’s eyes slide shut again. 

Someone is shaking him, which is annoying. He opens his eyes to tell them they’re annoying and is greeted by David’s very amused brown eyes. He’s sitting in the chair next to Patrick’s bed now and jostling Patrick’s arm. “You keep telling me how annoying I am and then telling me how attractive I am. It’s very confusing. Which am I?”

“Both,” Patrick mumbles. “But focus on being attractive. It’s quieter.”

David’s laughter rolls up from deep in his chest and he shakes Patrick’s arm again. “Nope. Come on. Talk to me.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to stay awake.”

Patrick sighs and shoves himself up a little higher on his pillows. David’s hand slides off his arm and Patrick regrets having moved. He liked the way David’s warm hand felt on him. “Who put you in charge of keeping me awake?”

“I appointed myself. Seemed the least I could do since I’m the reason you’re here.”

Patrick’s mind still feels muddy. He can’t make sense of this. “You are?”

David nods. “The car accident. Don’t you remember?”

_Ohhh._ Just like that, it comes back to him. Holiday music on the radio. The patch of ice. The sickening way his car slid. The helpless terror of seeing headlights coming at him. 

“Not your fault. There was ice.”

“My best friend told me it was stupid to drive anywhere tonight, but we ran out of ice and someone needed to do _something_ about the situation.”

Patrick blinks at David, trying to make sense of that sentence with his muzzy, too slow brain, but he can’t. His confusion must show on his face because David explains.

“For drinks. Ice for drinks. I was at a party. Ironic, I know. Running out of ice in the middle of an ice storm.” He pauses and tilts his head. _“Is_ that ironic? I always struggle with using irony correctly. I made the mistake of asking Alanis about it once and she confused me permanently, I think. Great song but some of the things she’s singing about aren’t actual examples of irony.” 

Patrick squints at him in confusion. “You asked Alanis…” He trails off, deciding his brain isn’t capable of processing this just now. “You know what, never mind.”

David waves his hand and continues, “Anyway, my dad made us have a last minute Christmas Eve party tonight and it was really important to him that it go well. And I— well, I wanted him to be happy and there was no ice for the drinks so here I am.” He flaps his uninjured arm at himself. “Sitting here in this ridiculous hospital gown with a broken wrist while everyone else enjoys the party.”

“Sounds like you’re a good son.”

David shrugs one shoulder and looks away. 

Patrick’s head feels like it weighs eighty pounds. He can’t hold it up anymore so he lets it fall back on the pillow. 

“Oh my god, Patrick. Wake up!” This time David has grabbed his hand and is shaking his whole arm. “You have got to stop going to sleep. I can’t possibly be that boring.”

Patrick tightens his fingers around David’s hand reflexively. It’s bigger than Patrick’s hand. His stomach rises and dips again with a little thrill. David is holding his hand. He wishes his brain would cooperate so he could at least try to make a good first impression on this guy, maybe even think of a smooth way to ask for his number. 

“You are definitely not boring, David. Sorry I keep drifting off.”

He sighs theatrically. “Guess I’ll have to sit here and make sure you stay awake.”

“I’d like that.” He smiles at David, but the eye contact suddenly feels like a lot so he looks down. They’re still holding hands. He wonders if David’s noticed. It’s all Patrick can think about. That, and the fact that David smells amazing. Like… like… 

“Hey! What do I smell like? Come on. Stay awake and finish your sentence.” He shakes their joined hands a bit. 

“Christmas,” Patrick mumbles and then, as he struggles to open his eyes again, “and oranges.” 

When he focuses again David is smiling at him. “Keep talking, Patrick. I told you why I was out driving in an ice storm on Christmas Eve. What about you? Where were you going tonight?” As he speaks, he lets go of Patrick’s hand to smooth out the drape of his far too big hospital gown, as if it’s possible to make the gown look more presentable somehow. 

Patrick is charmed by it, and by this man in general, but he wishes David would keep holding his hand. He’s pretty sure he keeps the words inside that time. If not, David doesn’t call him on it. 

Patrick watches him pluck at the gown for a moment longer. “You need a hat.”

David pauses in his fussing with the hospital gown and looks up, forehead wrinkling in confusion at the non sequitur. “A hat?”

“Yeah, you know, like in the story.” He waves a hand vaguely. Normally Patrick would be frustrated by struggling so much to express himself, but thanks to the drugs, it just makes him giggle. He’s thrilled when more words come to him. “The Christmas story!”

David is still looking at him like he’s nuts, but his lips are curling in a small smile. “A Christmas story? With a hat? Sorry, Patrick. I’m going to need more to go on.”

Patrick blows air through his lips, making a _pffffft_ sound, but then he has a moment of clarity. “Scrooge!”

“Scrooge?”

“Yeah, you know, he wears those pajama dresses with hats. That’s who you look like.” 

David huffs and glares at Patrick. “I look like a hostile elderly man out of Dickens?” His voice rises with each word so that by the time he gets to “Dickens” it comes out loud enough to make Patrick flinch. 

“Um.” Patrick can’t stop the giggle that escapes him. “No.” More giggling. “You just look like you raided his wardrobe.”

David scowls at him. “Okay, we’re done with you and this Scrooge thing.”

“Sorry, David.” Patrick manages to stop giggling, mostly because he’s worried he just crossed a line and lost his shot at getting a date with the hottest guy he’s ever seen in his life by… making fun of how he looks. _Shit._

David rolls his eyes and shakes his head irritably but Patrick’s pretty sure there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. He holds his breath, waiting to see what he says next. 

“You’re awfully opinionated for someone who is wearing the same outfit, I think.”

Patrick looks down. “Oh, yeah!" He smooths the gown over himself. "I guess that makes me the other guy.”

“Marley?”

“Yeah, Marley! I’m Marley.” He giggles again. “Hey, do you suppose Scrooge and Marley were … you know?” He lifts one shoulder and tips his head a little.

David blinks and fails to control a grin. "Are you asking me if Scrooge and Marley were lovers? I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”

"But I bet they wanted to be. That's why they were so grumpy! And they took it out on poor Bob Cratchit.”

“Whatever you say.” 

The burst of focus and energy has zapped Patrick. He’s starting to droop again. “I think I’m on to something.” He yawns. “And I’ll prove it to you… later.” He settles back into his pillows and blinks slowly.

David rests his hand back on the bed, close to Patrick’s but not touching. Patrick drops his gaze and stares at the few inches of white sheet between their fingers and wonders why it feels so hard to make himself move his hand across that tiny space and touch him again. He wants to, very much. He would be touching him just to touch him, though, and that’s why it’s hard. It would be an obvious indication of how he feels. What if David didn’t want that? What if David is just being nice to him because he feels a sense of responsibility about the accident?

They’re both quiet for a few minutes and then David breaks the spell and speaks. “So... it’s okay, you know. You don’t have to tell me why you were out driving tonight if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to—”

It’s Patrick’s turn to be confused. It takes him a moment to remember that David had even asked him what he had been doing out on the roads that night. “No, it’s fine.” Patrick raises his eyes to look at David. “It’s just—” he motions to his head. “It’s hard to organize my thoughts.”

Patrick slowly tells him about how he’s just moved to the area. He thinks he manages to keep the why of it all, including the broken engagement and the recent realization that he’s gay, to himself. He hopes so. That’s more information than he wants to share right now. He tells him about how strange and lonely he felt earlier tonight, sitting in his new room so far from everything and everyone he knows on Christmas Eve. And about how he thought being around other people might help so he was trying to find an open diner or coffee shop or something. 

David hums sympathetically and then says, “Which town did you move to?”

Patrick knows he makes a bit of a face. He’s still working on being able to say the name out loud without smirking or grimacing. “Schitt’s Creek.” He cringes a little and waits for David to laugh and make a joke, but he just looks pleased.

“You don’t say.” 

“You know it?”

David bites down on a smile and nods several times. “I do, in fact. And I can tell you that there is only one place to eat or get a cup of coffee in Schitt’s Creek— the Café Tropical. And you would have failed to find people there because they were all at my dad’s party.”

The realization that this handsome stranger lives in the same tiny town Patrick just moved to dawns slowly thanks to the drugs and the head injury, but when it arrives Patrick can’t stop the huge grin that follows. He reaches up with one hand to rub at his mouth and try to disguise it a bit. 

David is working to control a smile as well. “Welcome, neighbor.” 

“Do you usually greet new people with a head-on collision?”

David’s mouth drops open. “I thought we established that it wasn’t my fault!”

Patrick wishes his brain was functioning better. Teasing David like that was very satisfying but he can’t think quickly enough to continue it. Flirting with a head injury is proving to be difficult. He wants David to know he’s interested but any game he had— which, let’s be real, wasn’t much to begin with— has been ruined by the drugs and the concussion. “Pretty sure it was worth it to meet you,” is what ends up coming out. 

A jolt of adrenaline surges through Patrick as he realizes he said that out loud and his face goes hot. He doesn’t seem to be able to stop saying everything he’s thinking about David _to_ David. And he’s starting to think some things about David that he _really_ shouldn’t say out loud. 

David looks extremely pleased. He tucks another dimple-popping smile to the side of his mouth. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, too.” 

“Listen—” Patrick starts to slide his hand the few inches necessary to touch David’s hand again when the door to the room opens and a new person walks in with Patrick’s nurse trailing behind them. 

“Hello, Mr. Brewer. I’m Doctor Stewart. How are you feeling?”

David stands up and moves out of the way. 

Patrick tries to focus on the doctor rather than David, but his eyes keep flicking back to him. “My head feels strange and I’m really tired.” 

“Mmhmm.” She taps on the tablet she’s holding and hands it to the nurse. “That’s to be expected with a concussion.” She reaches out and runs her hand around the left side of Patrick’s head. He winces when she grazes the spot where his injury is. Then she gets out a penlight and shines it in his eyes and that’s even worse. “I know the light is uncomfortable. I’ll make this as quick as I can.” Once she’s finished with that she asks him to follow her finger while she moves it around in front of his eyes for a while. By the time she’s completed her exam Patrick’s pain has grown exponentially worse and he closes his eyes. 

“Well, Mr. Brewer, your responses aren’t quite what I’d like to see. I’m going to keep you overnight so we can keep an eye on you. We’ll evaluate again in the morning.” 

Patrick sighs but doesn’t argue. He _feels_ like someone should be keeping an eye on him. “Okay. Thank you.”

The doctor turns to David. “You, on the other hand, are being discharged. Is there someone who can come get you?”

A little surge of panic rolls through Patrick. David is going to be leaving. He’s got to figure out how to make sure they see each other again soon. _Come on, brain. Cooperate._ Meeting the sexiest man he’s ever seen on the same day he loses the ability to think straight might actually _be_ irony. Too bad he can’t ask Alanis.

“Mr. Brewer?”

“Sorry. Could you repeat that?”

“I asked if you have someone we can call for you? An emergency contact?”

“Oh. Um. No. No one local. I just moved here.”

“I understand.” The doctor gives him a sympathetic look and turns back to David to talk to him about his follow up care.

Patrick closes his eyes. He just needs to rest them for a minute. The light hurts.

* * *

“Are you awake, Patrick?” David’s voice is close.

He doesn’t open his eyes. “Yeah. My head really hurts again.”

“Would you like me to tell the nurse?”

“Yes, please.” 

Time passes, slowly and painfully, and Patrick keeps his eyes closed. Even the dim light hurts now. The nurse must be busy with another patient. He senses that David stays nearby. It’s nice knowing he’s there. It helps. 

“Are you awake?” David asks again after a while. 

“Unfortunately.” He shifts a bit in the bed, trying to get comfortable. “Could you talk to me? Distract me?” Hopefully it will actually be a distraction from the pain, but mostly he just wants to hear David’s voice. 

“Sure.” After that, David is silent for a long time before chuckling softly and saying, “I don’t know what to talk about.”

“Tell me about life in Schitt’s Creek.” 

“Okay, but you’re laying there with your eyes closed. How will I know you haven’t fallen asleep again?”

Patrick turns his hand palm up on the bed. “Squeeze my hand when you want to check. If I don’t squeeze back you’ll know.”

For a moment, nothing happens and he’s afraid he’s crossed a line or misread the situation. Maybe this buzz of attraction vibrating in Patrick really is one-sided. But then David’s warm hand slides into his own and he relaxes. 

David begins talking. He tells him about his family and what happened to them; about owning the town; about the motel and the various residents of Schitt’s Creek. And about how everyone came together to celebrate Christmas that night in the middle of a storm, just to make his father happy. Every little while he squeezes Patrick’s hand and Patrick squeezes back. It’s ridiculous how much it lights him up inside each time David squeezes his hand. 

David is forced to let go and move away from the bed when the nurse finally returns to inject some more painkiller into Patrick’s IV. Soon Patrick floats out on the tide again, leaving the pain behind. 

Once he feels like he can tolerate the light, he forces his eyes open. “David?”

“Still here.” David smiles at him from his own bed.

“I’m glad.”

“Me, too. Well. Glad might be an overstatement. I’m wearing reusable clothing, my hair is a disaster, and I’m pretty sure nothing on the tray of food they brought me is actually food, but…” He smiles crookedly. “The company isn’t bad.”

Patrick knows he’s smiling a dopey smile at David. He wants to say something confident and flirtatious, but the dopey smile is all he’s capable of right now. 

“So cute,” David whispers, but Patrick hears him and a happy warmth fills him. Then David comes back to sit in the chair near him again. “No one has come to pick me up yet. With the roads the way they are, I think I might be stuck here overnight. You may get tired of me talking and waking you up all the time.”

“I don’t think I’ll get tired of it.” He holds his hand out to David, who stares at it for a moment, a small smile twitching his lips. Then he slides his fingers over Patrick’s and Patrick closes his hand over them, rubbing his thumb back and forth over David’s knuckles. He stares at their hands and tries to clear his head enough to come up with the right words to say. He wants to ask David out, to have a plan for seeing him again after this, but he’s still new to asking men out and it adds an extra layer of nervousness to an already strange situation. Plus, he’s not at his best right now. He can already feel his brain getting slow and weird from the medication again. He needs to do _something,_ though. Soon. 

He looks up and smiles at David, or tries to at least. He’s so tired. “David… I want… I was wondering…” He’s lost track of how to say this. Should he ask him to meet for coffee? No, that’s too much like friends. He doesn’t want to be _friends_ with David. Dinner. He should ask him to dinner. He can do this. He’s going to do this. Maybe he should just kiss him and hope for the best. It would be easier than trying to talk right now. Trying to think feels like trudging through deep snow. A kiss would say everything he wants to say without him having to actually say it. He leans toward David…

Blackness swallows him.

* * *

“Patrick,” a voice says. “Patrick. Mr. Brewer? Wake up, please.”

“David?” Patrick blinks and rubs his eyes and tries to remember what was happening before he drifted off again. 

The doctor waits patiently for Patrick to focus on her and then she smiles. “How do you feel?”

“Um, Better, I think?” He tilts his head to look around the doctor and over at the other bed. It’s made up and looks as if it’s never been used. His stomach sinks with disappointment.

“That’s good.” The doctor looks at Patrick’s head and makes him follow a light again. “I think you’re good to go home. I’ll send the nurse back in with your discharge paperwork and instructions. You can go ahead and get dressed if you like.”

“Okay, thank you.” 

Patrick stares at the bed opposite him for a long time, going over his memories of the night before. Surely he didn’t imagine David. He is the only thing that sticks out vividly in Patrick’s memory. Everything else about last night has a fuzzy, dream-like quality, but David is sharp and clear with his dramatic brows and shy smiles and warm hands. Patrick didn’t imagine him. He’s almost positive. But… then … why doesn’t he remember David leaving? He wouldn’t go without saying goodbye, would he? He looks around at all the flat surfaces, hoping to see a note. He doesn’t find anything. 

Maybe David simply didn’t feel the same connection that Patrick did. Oh, god. He hopes that’s not the case. He imagines running into David on the street one day a few weeks from now and trying to hide his feeling of rejection under a layer of polite acquaintance chit-chat. The thought makes him squirm with mortification. 

Out in the hallway cheerful voices are raised in greeting. A group of people are wishing one another Merry Christmas. He’d somehow forgotten that today was Christmas. The sadness in his chest grows and the weight of it droops his shoulders. The loneliness he felt last night now compounded by the embarrassment of realizing that David hadn’t been interested in him. He’d been too high on painkillers to recognize that David was just being polite. He was probably sitting around with his friends and family right now, opening gifts and telling them the amusing story of the drugged out guy trying to flirt with him at the hospital. 

He needs to get out of here and go lick his wounds in private. He tosses the blankets back and stands up carefully. His head feels oddly light but the pain is down to a dull ache. He looks around until he finds the plastic bag full of his possessions and pulls his clothes out. He’ll need to ask someone to call him a cab. He hopes there are cabs in a place this small and that any of them are running on Christmas Day. Having to walk home would not be pleasant.

A few minutes later he’s sitting in the chair tying his shoes when he hears someone clear their throat. 

He looks up to find David leaning against the doorway smiling at him, dark eyes gleaming. The burst of sheer, dumb happiness that explodes in his chest at the sight of him is overwhelming. He’s even more gorgeous than Patrick remembered. His dark hair is swept up from his forehead and styled smooth. If Patrick hadn’t seen the curls last night, he would never know they existed. Knowing they do exist feels like having been let in on a secret. David’s wearing a black sweatshirt and even with one of his arms held close to him in a sling, Patrick can make out a bright white lightning bolt running down the front of it. His knees are visible through strategic tears in the fabric of his tight black jeans and his ankles are bare between the bottom of the pants and the tops of his pristine white sneakers. Patrick never in his life imagined he could be this turned on by knees and ankles, but here he is, practically shaking with the desire to touch that golden skin, to slip his fingers under the edges of the frayed fabric, to run a thumb over the slope of his ankle. 

His eyes finally catch on the book clutched in David’s good hand. He’s bumping it gently— nervously?— against the side of his thigh. Patrick starts to tilt his head to try to read the title of it when it occurs to him that he’s been silent for too long. He looks up to find the sparkle in David’s eyes dimming and his smile going shy as it begins to falter. Patrick rushes to stop that from happening. “Hi, David. Hi!” He practically jumps up out of the chair and the movement is too fast for his still fragile brain. He’s immediately dizzy and sways on his feet. 

David walks quickly to him and tosses the book on the bed so he can hold his good arm out to Patrick. “Are you okay?”

Patrick grips David’s forearm to steady himself. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just got really dizzy there for a minute. Stood up too fast, I think.” 

When he feels steady once more he looks up to meet David’s eyes and a giddy wave of pleasure flows through him again. “Wow.”

David looks pleased but also confused. “Wow?”

“David. You’re— you look… Wow.”

David bites his upper lip and looks up at the ceiling for a moment before meeting Patrick’s eyes again and smirking. “And here I thought you might be more articulate today.”

Patrick huffs out a sheepish laugh. “Apparently not. Um. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? It’s Christmas Day. Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

“I’ve _been_ with my family. Trust me, we’ve all had more than enough togetherness.” He turns his arm in Patrick’s grasp and pulls it back until he can weave his fingers with Patrick’s and let their joined hands fall between them. “Besides, I needed to keep my promise.”

Patrick looks down at their clasped hands and remembers how much he liked holding David’s hand last night. Then he looks back up at David. “Your promise?”

“Mm-hmm. You don’t remember?”

Patrick swallows and shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t remember, but something about the way David is looking at him is making his heart speed up. 

David smiles. “You tried to kiss me last night.”

“I did?” Heat blooms over his face. _Oh, god._

David grins and nods. “Your aim was terrible and you ended up just sort of leaning to one side with your lips pursed. It was adorable.”

Patrick clenches his eyes shut as his cheeks flush even hotter. “Oh, god.” 

David waits until he opens his eyes again to continue. “I told you we should wait until you weren’t so heavily medicated. You were very pouty after that and you repeatedly made me promise to let you kiss me once the drugs were out of your system.” 

“Oh, _god.”_ Patrick covers his face with his free hand.

“Patrick.”

Patrick continues hiding behind his hand. “What?”

“Are the drugs out of your system?”

Patrick’s heart stops and then explodes into life again, beating so hard and fast it feels like a creature trapped in his chest fighting to escape. He drops his hand away from his face and licks his lips nervously. “I— I think so.”

“Do you still want to kiss me?” The teasing light is gone from David's eyes. The humor is still there, but it’s laced with a little anxiety now. 

His eyes drop to David’s mouth involuntarily and then flick back up to his warm, brown eyes. He nods slowly and his voice is firm when he says, “Yes.”

David tugs gently on their joined hands to bring Patrick closer and then just looks at him, smiling softly. It takes Patrick a moment to realize that he’s waiting for Patrick, that he had promised to let Patrick kiss _him._ So he reaches up with his other hand, careful to avoid David’s injured arm, and smooths it over David’s cheek and around to cup the back of his head to pull him closer still. He can feel the moist heat of David’s breath against his own mouth and it makes him shiver a little. He looks into David’s eyes and then down to his mouth at the last moment, wishing he could somehow watch this kiss and experience it at the same time. David’s lips are soft and warm and fit perfectly pressed against his own. After a moment, he tilts David’s head to one side and uses the tip of his tongue to swipe gently against his lower lip. David gasps a little and opens for him immediately. The sound of that little breathy gasp ricochets through Patrick’s body and he clutches David’s neck tighter and slides his tongue against his. The stubble on their chins makes a little sound as it scratches together, like a match striking, and it sends fire rushing through his body. 

The kiss is heating up quickly and an alarm sounds in Patrick’s head. This is a _first kiss._ Regretfully, he dials back the intensity and kisses him one last time, lingeringly, but a bit more chastely. Then he steps back and watches David’s face carefully. 

David’s cheeks are pink and he smiles into Patrick’s eyes while squeezing his hand tightly, as if to keep him from going too far. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can the nurse walks into the room. 

“Okay, Mr. Brewer— oh, hello, Mr. Rose. You’re back.”

“Mmm. Mm-hmm. Yes, I am.” David’s pink cheeks grow pinker but he doesn’t let go of Patrick’s hand.

The nurse’s eyes tick back and forth between them and he smiles briefly before schooling his face. “So, Mr. Brewer, here are your care instructions. You should read them thoroughly but the main things are plenty of rest and no screens of any kind for the next two weeks. You need to let your brain rest and recover.” He sets the papers down on the bed next to the book. “Good luck. And Merry Christmas!”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas,” he calls after the nurse as he leaves. Then he looks at David again. “So what’s with the book?”

“Oh, um, I thought… You know what, it’s dumb. Let’s just…”

Patrick leans over and picks up the book to read the title. It’s a copy of “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens. He looks up at David again and smiles.

His eyes slide away from Patrick’s. “I figured if you still needed someone to keep you awake I could, I don’t know, read to you. I guess.” 

Warmth floods Patrick's chest. “Thank you, David.”

David shrugs. 

“Could you maybe give me a ride home?”

He smiles shyly and makes eye contact again. “Mmhmm. Yes. I can do that.” 

“Would you… could you stay for a while and read to me?”

He presses his lips together in another smile and nods. “I can do that, too.” 

Patrick grins and kisses him again quickly before tugging him toward the door, already thinking about how to go about cuddling up next to David on the sofa while he reads to him. Then he looks back at him over his shoulder and forces his face into seriousness. “Would you wear the hospital gown while you do it? I think it would add authenticity to the experience.”

David’s mouth drops open in horror. “Absolutely not!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [vivianblakesunrisebay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay) and [rhetoricalquestions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalquestions/pseuds/rhetoricalquestions) for their wonderful beta work and for their support. 
> 
> Thanks also to [houdini74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74) and [smallumbrella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallumbrella/pseuds/smallumbrella) and [deenerann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deenerann/pseuds/deenerann) for their help and enthusiasm. 
> 
> And much love to all of them for their endless willingness to reassure me I can do the thing.


End file.
